Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

I’d been hoping there’d be a boathook or something similar, but the nearest thing I could find was a short oar with a broken shaft. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Taking it back outside with me, I hooked the rope back around the nail to hold the hatch shut, then went back up the steps to where I’d left the cool-box.

Just that small exertion had been enough to tire me. I rested for a few moments, catching my breath while considering the creek winding through the expanse of sandbanks and saltmarsh. I wondered if I was up to doing this. Less than twenty-four hours ago I’d been worried I might end up in hospital: now here I was about to set off hiking across tidal marshland on what was probably a wild goose chase.

But it was my own fault. Ill or not, I should have recognized what was right in front of me yesterday. I might have missed my chance already, and if I left it any longer I certainly would.

Picking up the cool-box, I struck out along the bank of the creek. The afternoon was brighter than the day before, but there was still a blanketing layer of clouds that turned the sky the colour of spoiled milk. There wasn’t much of a path to start with, just a narrow ribbon of muddy ground where the marsh grasses and plants weren’t quite so thick. Before long even that had disappeared. I tried to keep my eyes on the creek as I walked by the water’s edge, but it wasn’t easy when I had to constantly pay attention to where I was treading.

If anything the going grew even worse. The tides had carved an intricate network of waterways through the soft sandy soil of the marsh. The creek was like a giant root, from which smaller roots branched off, and then smaller ones from those. I found my way blocked by murky pools and partly flooded ditches. Some of them were small enough to step or jump over; others I had no choice but to detour round and hope I could eventually negotiate my way back to the creek. After following one channel for what seemed an age without finding a way across, I stopped to rest and get my bearings. The flat landscape was devoid of features other than sandy hummocks topped with spiky grass. Banks of rushes blurred the line between land and water, and looking back I could only just make out the boathouse.

Setting down the cool-box, I debated what to do. I’d hoped that by following the creek inland I’d eventually come to the same stretch I’d reached the day before, when I’d walked along it in the opposite direction from Trask’s house. But I’d no idea how far it was, and now I’d wandered so far off course it was hard to distinguish the creek from the numerous channels and ditches that also carved their way through here. The tide was already spreading back through the saltmarsh, and at this rate I was either going to get lost or break an ankle.

I was reluctantly considering turning back when I saw a figure some way off across the marsh. I was too far away to make out any details, but as it drew closer I saw it was a woman. I felt an odd sort of tension when I realized who it was.

Rachel Derby walked towards me on the other bank of the flooded channel I’d been trying to get round. She had a canvas holdall slung across one shoulder, more satchel than handbag. The thick dark hair was tied back in a loose plait, and she managed to make even the wellingtons, old jeans and red waterproof jacket look good.

She stopped opposite me, her expression bemused. ‘I didn’t expect to see you out here.’

‘I was... I thought I’d take a walk.’ Conscious of how bizarre I must appear, I raised the broken oar. ‘I borrowed this from the boathouse.’

‘So I see.’ Her gaze went to the cool-box. ‘Off on a picnic?’

‘Uh, no. I know it looks a bit strange...’

‘Not at all. I’m sure a broken oar’s going to come in very useful.’ She didn’t smile, which made me feel even more ridiculous. ‘I’m not going to ask why you’re out here. It’s none of my business and I’m sure you’ve got a good reason. But are you sure you’re up to it? You looked terrible last time I saw you.’

‘I’m feeling much better,’ I told her.

The green eyes were sceptical. ‘So long as you know what you’re doing. It’s going to be high tide in an hour or so, and I wouldn’t advise you to be wandering out here then. If you think this place is bad now, it’ll be a lot worse when it’s flooded.’

I looked at her wellingtons and satchel, unsure whether the idea that had come to me was good or bad.

‘How well do you know your way around here?’

‘Well enough to know which parts to avoid.’ She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I’m trying to find my way back to the stretch of creek I reached yesterday. It wasn’t far from your house, so I thought if I followed the creek it’d bring me back to it.’ I gave a shrug. ‘It hasn’t been that easy.’

‘Welcome to the Backwaters,’ she said. I thought there was the hint of a smile, but I could have imagined it. ‘Whereabouts is it you want to get to?’

‘I don’t know exactly. The bank had crumbled away, and there was an old boat sunk in the mud—’

‘Near a dead willow? I know it. It’s not far, but if you don’t know how to get there it’s easy to get lost, and that really isn’t good when the tide’s flooding back. If you can get to it from Creek House can’t you wait until later and then try again from there?’

‘Not really.’ If I waited then whatever chance I had of finding what I was looking for would be gone. ‘Can you give me directions?’

‘Out here?’ Her tone made it clear what she thought of that. ‘This isn’t the sort of place you can just go for a stroll. I’d have thought you’d learned that after yesterday.’

‘It’s important.’

She shook her head, either resigned or marvelling at my stupidity. ‘Does it have something to do with my sister?’

It was a good question, and I took a second or two to answer. ‘Not as far as I know.’

I could tell her that much. For all I knew this could be a huge waste of time. But I had to know one way or the other.

Rachel looked off across the saltmarsh, brushing away a strand of hair that blew across her face.

‘OK,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’ll take you.’

We walked on opposite sides of the flooded channel until we came to a point where it narrowed. It was still too wide to jump, but thick weathered planks had been laid across to make a rudimentary bridge. Once I’d joined her on the other side, Rachel set off confidently back towards the creek. There was no obvious path, but she seemed to have no problem finding her way through the tough vegetation that covered this part of the marsh like a green mat.

We walked in silence at first. It wasn’t awkward exactly, more a case of feeling a way towards a safe territory for conversation. Rachel broke it first.

‘So... How was the boathouse?’

‘Good. I like it, it’s a nice place.’

‘Thanks. It isn’t quite finished. I’ve still got some odd jobs left before it’s let out for the summer.’

‘You’re doing the work yourself?’

‘It’s kept me busy. Most of it was done before... before I came here.’ She continued past the stumble. ‘Andrew’s an architect, so he did all the structural stuff and my sister was in charge of the interior design. They got contractors in to do the major work, so it’s just a matter of finishing off. A few bits of paint to touch up, pictures to hang. That sort of thing.’

Trask had said he’d built Creek House for his wife, but I hadn’t realized he was an architect. ‘I looked at your sister’s photographs. Hope that was OK.’

‘That’s what they’re there for. Or will be, once I’ve put them up. Except for a couple of the older ones, like the motorbike and the self-portrait, they were all taken round here. The idea was to sell them to people who stay at the boathouse, so they’re all for sale. Well, except for the self-portrait. I’ve been meaning to take that one away.’ A sour note entered her voice. ‘Not that Emma would mind.’